


The Quick Drop

by BusteloTelescope



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-07-23 20:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16166858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BusteloTelescope/pseuds/BusteloTelescope
Summary: In the dark quiet of early morn, in between wars, ghosts and memories come haunting.





	1. Chapter 1

Here are my first tentative steps into the Jonerys fandom! Silly and emotional but also lighthearted, just written for fun and to get the story out of my system. Let me know what you think!

* * *

 

Mornings had changed since the conclusion of the war with the dead. Rather than jolting into awareness with the pressure of the world sitting heavy on her chest, Daenerys was growing accustomed to blinkingly welcome the day only when the weak shafts of light from her curtained window grew bold enough to interrupt her peaceful slumber.

This morning, however, she woke abruptly in a slight panic.

The room was still dark, and the sudden untimeliness of her waking had her disoriented. Her pregnancy was in an advanced stage and her active babe was swiftly developing into an energy drain. More so than at any other time of her life, her nights of late had been full of deep, heavy sleep, comforted by the heft of the babe in her belly and the equally pleasant warmth of her husband in her bed.

Her head swiveled quickly to her left, suddenly registered the unexpected and unexplained absence of a snoring husband. Her hand shot out to his accustomed spot and found bedding crumped but cool. Gracelessly working her way to a reclined lean, the closest she could get to sitting with the beloved burden before her, she huffed indignantly and looked about the dark room. The only light piercing the black of pre-dawn was from the dying embers in the large stone fireplace across the room. Though it was minimal, the gentle glow highlighted her missing king sitting slumped in a plush chair with his curly head supported by one hand and a chalice of something in the other.

Curious and concerned, she inched her way off the bed and wrapped a thick robe around her shoulders to ward off the chill before quietly padding across the floor. She sidled up to the seated man with a soft smile, knowing that his brooding nature often found him with disturbed dreams and imagining some way she might distract him.

“Jon,” she murmured lowly, sliding a hand into his riot of dark hair, “Come back to bed, my love.”

Startled, he looked up at her with eyes wide and wet before quickly pulling away to place his cup up on the side board, simultaneously attempting to discretely wipe at his face. “Did I wake you?” he managed to grunt out in a gravely voice meant to disguise his obvious emotional turmoil.

Dany wordlessly grasped one of the chair’s sturdy arms and leveraged her newfound bulk to kneel on the plush furs between his knees, shushing his protestations with a gentle touch to his full lips. “We’re fine here.” Brushing her fingers across a stubbly cheek, she wiped away a lone track of tears in a motion that had the young king huffing dismissively yet leaning into the comfort she offered. “Please Jon, tell me. What’s happened? What’s all this?”

Jon captured her slightly trembling hand and brought it up to press against his lips as he shook his head. “Foolishness,” he muttered, now pressing kisses to her palm but still refusing to meet her gaze. “Nothing but foolishness, I assure you.”

Clucking her tongue and narrowing her eyes, Daenerys clasped his face between her hands, forcing his eyes to meet the righteous indignation radiating from her own. “My husband is no fool,” she insisted, her voice soft but firm. “I will not abide anyone saying otherwise. Not even you.” The eye-roll and accompanying chuckle her words elicited broke the gloom a bit, encouraging her to settle back and relieve the stress on her knees. She made herself comfortable, leaning onto his sturdy calf and resting her head on his knee so that she could look up into his still far too sad eyes. “Share your burdens with me, my King. Together, remember. In all things.”

His responding sigh was deep and melancholic in a way that was singularly Jon, but his deft fingers carded through her hair contentedly. “The past months have been so damned full, so endlessly consumed with the need to fight and survive and live, I’ve had no time to truly dwell on anything…on anyone…” The rough voice drifted off, but she knew what he left unsaid.

“You’ve been thinking of your mother.”

The hand stroking her loose silver strands stilled, drifting through the length of her tresses to toy with the freshly trimmed edges.  “Watching you grow with my child,” he smiled in the special way that lit up his face, Dany’s very favorite smile, “watching you prepare to welcome the little one, it brings me infinite, unspeakable joy. I’ve never been happier Dany, please don’t doubt that. But,” he hesitated, gathering his thoughts and praying his clumsy words wouldn’t upset his, recently, touchy wife.

Dany reached out to clasp his hand between hers, weaving their fingers together in a reassuring squeeze. “But it’s put motherhood on your mind.”

He nodded, swallowing hard and blinking quickly. “I lay abed tonight, watching you sleep and it made...I realized…” He groaned and shoved his free hand into his wild mass of hair in frustration. “Say what you will, it does sound foolish, fucking stupid even, to say out loud but- but until Bran shared my mother’s identity with me…part of me still believed that she was still alive out there. That I might even find her one day. Now I know I won’t. I can’t. She’s well and truly gone.”

His cheeks were flushed, and he once again averted his eyes, but she wouldn’t have it. Pulling on his hands in a silent request for assistance, Dany lumbered to her feet and delicately positioned herself upon his lap, appreciated that he held back any comments on her changing weight. Rather, he seemed pleased with the adjustment to their seating arrangements, winding his arm around her, pressing a hand to her side and smiling at the responding push.

“Your son wants to play,” she smiled, placing her smaller hand over his.

“My son,” he chuckled softly. “We’ll see.”

“I know,” she assured him smartly, continuing their months long and deliciously pleasant debate.

At that he laughed outright. “Your confidence is boundless, my Queen. You’ll teach that to our child, I have no doubt.” His expression sobered and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “You are going to be an exceptional mother, Daenerys.” He paused and she waited, giving him the time to sort out his troubled thoughts. “I shouldn’t complain about growing up here. I had it better than most, I know. Lady Stark could be cruel, aye, but I mostly learned to stay out of her way. Sometimes I would watch, though, from a distance. She would kiss wounds and tell stories and sing lullabies, and I would watch and wonder where my mother was, whether she knew about me…if she cared. Pathetic bastard that I was.” He snorted humorlessly but failed to realize the effects his words had on his wife until he heard the quiet sniffling. “No, Dany, don’t…”

She shook her head and pursed her lips, gathering herself momentarily before trusting the strength of her voice to continue. “You deserved more than that Jon,” she croaked, burying her head into the crook of his neck.

He smiled wryly, kissing the top of her head. “Both of us had a bit of a shit start, hmm?” She laughed wetly, able to make light of the sorry state of their respective childhoods while held within the strong bands of his arms. After all, in the end those seemingly limitless trials and heartaches had brought him to her.

“I didn’t want Lady Stark to be my mother, not once I was old enough to understand what her nasty looks and cutting remarks truly meant. I wanted my own mother and since my father was so bloody mysterious about who she was, I let my imagination fill in the blank spaces.”

“And how does a lonely, gloomy lad construct the mother of his dreams, I wonder?” she smiled sadly, burrowing deeper into his shoulder.

Jon snorted and dropped his head back to stare up at the beams crossing overhead, his mind wandering back to a time long ago and best forgotten. “Well, she was beautiful, naturally, with dark hair like me. Lady Stark was a toad in comparison,” he smirked mischievously, relishing the delighted chortle she smothered into his neck. “But she was also kind and generous, with a voice like a nightingale. And she loved me best.” He looked back down to the woman in his lap, blushing at the wistfulness in his tone but stunned by the dreamy acceptance in her gentle smile. She understood him without reservation, and he loved her for it. “Well, she did when she knew of my existence. Sometimes she was a princess whose evil ogre of a father had forced her to send me away, but still my father wrote her about me regularly. I also liked to think she had been cursed by a woods-witch into an enchanted sleep and only I could awaken her, if only I could find her. When I was feeling particularly vindictive against my father I would even imagine that he had stolen me from her and that she was roaming the Seven Kingdoms searching for me,” he admitted dryly.

“Oh, my sad boy,” she murmured, tucking an unruly curl behind his ear soothingly and unsure whether to find his surreptitious wincing at the building pressure of her weight endearing or irritating. “Jon, if I’m hurting you just say so.”

Abandoning all pretense of subtlety, he cringed and shifted his thighs in a roll that had her reaching for balance. “Fuck me, Dany, but if you don’t get off I think I’ll be hobbling after our babe on one leg.”

She scoffed halfheartedly and slapped his chest, ignoring his exaggerated moan as she leaned heavily on his strong thighs to push herself to standing and glowering as he assisted with a gentle push to her backside. “You great oaf,” she flipped her loose hair saucily over her shoulder, turning to watch him stretch and massage his smarting appendage. “You should have told me not to sit on you.”

“If I ever turn down an opportunity to have you in my lap,” he limped toward her, enjoying how aggravation and entertainment played at turns across her face, “please have Sam examine my mental state. I promise you, that will me the first sign of madness upon me.”

She shook her head, only mildly disgusted with him, and extended a hand. “Enough of your japes, to bed with you.”

He smirked and wrapped his hand around her slender wrist, gently pulling her into his arms. “Are you planning on massaging my leg?”

“First, you are going to finish unburdening yourself,” she firmly steered him towards their bed, sitting herself against the headboard and coaxing her husband to lie with his head pillowed in her lap, “and afterwards, once your soul is lighter, we’ll see about that…” she leaned down to peck at his plump lips “leg.”

Jon tried to deepen her kiss, but when she slipped away with a playful ‘Unh-unh-unh’ he mock growled and settled into the simple luxury of her hand stroking across his forehead.

“I tried to find her once,” he abruptly spoke into the still dark room. “My mother, that is.”

Her hand stilled, and she leaned forward to peer at him over her belly. “Truly?”

He laughed shallowly and nodded as best he could. “Aye. Tried being the key word. I was eight or thereabouts and, unsurprisingly, I didn’t make it far. Fucking Theon had been badgering me about my mother being a whore, as he liked to do, the prick, and when I saw an opportunity to leave Winterfell, I took it. Father was,” he grimaced, “not well-pleased.”

“And he still didn’t hint that she had died?” she wondered, perplexed.

“Never,” he exclaimed, perhaps more vehemently than he intended. “It would have been easy to believe. Perhaps Lady Stark would have hated me less for it. Being told not to ask, it created such mystery.” He blinked quickly and cleared his throat, prompting the soothing hand movements to recommence. “If he had just told me she was gone I could have accepted it and moved on. I wouldn’t have spent my life looking for her in every visiting lady, searching for my nose among the small folk, waiting for my eyes to look back at me from any unfamiliar woman.” His voice cracked and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. “A fucking lifetime of useless hope. She was dead the whole time, bones moldering away under my feet.”

“Did you often visit her?” she asked in a voice small and tremulous. “Thinking she was your aunt?”

“No,” he shook his head sadly, “I wish I could say that I had but father never spoke of her and he wouldn’t stand for others to do so either. She’s as much a stranger to me as Rhaegar.”

“So many ghosts,” she whispered regretfully.

“Old ghosts,” he agreed, the barely at bay melancholia stealing over him once more. “20 years dead yet it feels like I’ve only just lost her.” He craned his neck up to look into her shimmering, red-rimmed eyes. “How is it I mourn for someone I never knew?”

“Jon, my love, don’t you see?” she cocked her head and traced his features with a practiced, familiar grace. “You mourn the loss of all the mothers you ever imagined. Of those sweet, worthy dreams.”

His face broke at her words, manly precepts of stoicism melting away in the arms of his beloved. “I’m never going to find her, Dany.” A deep, shuddering breath. “She isn’t out there waiting for me. There’s no mystery or adventure. She’s just dead.”

“It’s a hard truth, my sweet king.” She cried with him as they clung to one another, holding each other as neither of their mothers ever could.

The moments passed, stretching peacefully into silence as cathartic tears were shed and dried.

“We should hold a funeral for her,” Daenerys broke the silence resolutely.

“A funeral for a woman 20 years dead?” He cocked an eyebrow, unsure he understood.

“A funeral befitting the mother of a king,” she clarified. “When Ned Stark brought his sister home she was interred as Lyanna Stark, maiden and cautionary tale. Let us remind the North of the woman who she chose to be: Lyanna Targaryen, mother, wife and Queen.”

Jon looked up at her, not for the first time in awe of his good fortune and marveling at the woman who chose to share his life. His heart, his soul, overflowed with the adulation he wished me could share, but since his words were coarse and his tongue lame to the nuances of poetic drivel, he let the love he bore her shine through his eyes, through every line and dimple of his face, and offered a simple and sincere “Thank you”.

Daenerys dried the few stunted teardrops he allowed himself now that the crisis had passed and cooed soothing nonsense, her own tears continuing to stream freely as she watched him take comfort in the warm presence of her protruding belly. Eyes closed, Jon pressed his cheek against the thin linen shift she wore, smiling wearily at the nascent nudge offered in response. “Gods, lass, you make me feel whole.”

“We complete each other, my love,” she agreed, scratching at his stubbly cheek and earning a low moan. “You, me, and whoever is in here. Son or daughter,” she finally conceded. “Though, most likely a son.”

“Sons are trouble, Dany.” He laughed, a full, healthy laugh that Dany had missed desperately. “Dirty, fighting, stinking trouble.”

He pulled himself up to sit beside her with an ease that had her green with envy, but the feeling passed as he took her into his arms. “So I’ve heard,” she relaxed into his embrace, absentmindedly noting the feeble rays of light beginning to creep around her heavy curtains. “Apparently sometimes they even frighten their parents by running away.” He reddened and her eyes narrowed fiendishly. “I will have the rest of that tale, you must know. I’ll go to Sansa if I must.”

“Aye, my queen,” he brought one hand up to grasp the back of her neck, pulling her into a searing kiss, while the other wandered south to the hem of her nightgown. “But first, how about that massage?”

 

 

 


	2. And baby makes three...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short, but in my opinion necessary, culmination. Pure, unadulterated fluff.  
> Enjoy!

Dany rested her weary head against the strong shoulder behind her, letting that stalwart breadth of chest support her overwrought, exhausted form. Her husband’s trembling hand reached up to wipe the sweat from her brow and catch her quiet tears.

Dry lips, near bloodied from hours of nervous tension, pressed sweetly to her damp temple. A rush of warmth stole over her as Jon breathed her name, exhaling prayerfully into her wild nest of silver hair. Eyes still closed, she offered a wobbly smile and summoned the strength to speak in an uneven voice.

“I told you so.”

The responding peal of laughter served to broaden her smile and relax some of the tension still knotted in her chest. “

Shoulda known. Before we married, Davos warned me that wives are always right,” Jon conceded happily, trailing his hands down her arms to join her in cradling their newly born son to her uncovered chest.

Carefully, she craned her neck to observe his solemn profile. Emotional and unbalanced, a niggling thread of concern wormed itself into her overflowing heart. “You aren’t…disappointed?” she asked hesitantly, subconsciously tightening her hold on the precious little stranger.

Jon ripped his glowing eyes away from their all-important task of memorizing his son’s petite features, particularly admiring how his tiny lips pursed and pouted in turns as he slept, and stared at her in mild horror. “Dany girl,” he shook his head at her quivering lips before sighing and resting his forehead against her own. “You silly, impossible thing.” He delicately kissed away the few tears that had fallen at her sudden flush of fear and moved to smooth his battle-hardened hand over the downy smooth scalp of their son. “How could anyone look upon this perfection and experience anything other than pure delight?”

His voice broke, as did that onerous thread attempting to twine round her heart and disturb her joy.

She pressed a kiss to his rough cheek in silent thanks before curling under his chin, seeking shelter and finding it offered gladly. “Aemon, I think,” she whispered sleepily. The quiet sounds of Missandei directing the domestic needs of the room, of the staff clearing away the evidence of her labor, all fell away to a dull buzz as the world centered upon the mewling breaths of the babe. Jon agreed with a contented thrum low in his chest and gathered his family in his arms. Memories of ice and death and devastation melted away. The iron throne shrunk to insignificance.

Peace reigned, and all was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has commented and been so encouraging! I definitely have more to share, so hopefully I'll see you around.  
> Toodle-oo!


End file.
